


Ivy

by orphan_account



Series: Femslash February 2015 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Hermione, Black Hermione, F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’ll have windows and curtains and shutters. Very classic. The front,” Hermione spread her hands out in front of her, “Would be covered with ivy.” She glanced over to Ginny. “That part’s very important.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [kursed](http://kursed.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

It was late, so late it was early; in a few hours the sun would come up and Gryffindor Tower would be flooded with light and, a little while later, students, on their way to breakfast.

But for now, it was dark, and quiet, and empty. Well, empty unless you counted Angelina, who had fallen asleep on the floor surrounded by books, or Neville, who was in a similar position, his hand dripping black from the ink bottle he’d knocked over when he finally passed out with his face crumpling a half-written Potions essay due Friday. The only sound was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock by the wall, and an occasional soft _splat_ when Neville’s toad hopped onto an open book or a roll of parchment. 

Exams started tomorrow, O.W.L.s for the fifth years, which Hermione was one. She’d been so wrapped up lately with the D.A. that she wasn’t nearly as prepared as she would have liked to be, though the logical part of her reasoned she was probably still significantly more prepared than most of her fellow students, particularly Harry and Ron. The two of them had spent all evening trying to convince Hermione to write their essays for them, the Potions one that Neville was working on, and if it weren’t for all the stress she was under, Hermione might have spared a moment to feel taken advantage of. She knew the boys loved her, they did, in their own ways, but all the same, she would have liked it if they started appreciating her as more than a mildly annoying homework dispenser.

Shaking off her ever-present feelings of inadequacy, Hermione attacked her Herbology book with newfound vigor, determined to finish studying and get in a few hours of sleep before the boys came down and dragged her to breakfast, panicking all the way about the exams they hadn’t studied for. She was so absorbed in her reading that at first she didn’t notice the soft footsteps approaching from behind, not until they were nearly upon her.

She spun around, aware that she looked a complete mess, her hair even bushier than usual, sticking up here and there where she’d run her hands through it repeatedly. At least her dark skin and the dark common room, lit only by the tip of her wand sticking out from where she’d tucked it behind her ear, hid the bags under her eyes that were becoming a regular fixture.

When Hermione identified the owner of the footsteps, her heart skipped and stuttered in a way she’d learned to ignore. Her free hand, not holding a quill, fluttered up to her head in a futile effort to smooth down her hair, but she gave it up quickly. She gave Ginny a smile that probably looked more forced than it was – she hadn’t done a lot of smiling this year – and swept her books and parchment off the sofa to give Ginny room enough to sit. 

“I didn’t expect to see you down here this late,” she said honestly. “I didn’t expect to see anyone.” She straightened her skirt, which she noticed with a blush had been riding up quite a bit, and tucked her feet underneath her as she sat.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ginny said with a shrug, accepting Hermione’s unspoken invitation to join her on the sofa. It was something she never told her brothers, or even her parents, how sometimes the traumatic experiences of her first year at Hogwarts still plagued her sleep, how she woke from nightmares of snakes and blood and a sickly sweet voice in her head that echoed there still. Hermione had told her several times to talk to Harry, because she knew he’d understand, especially this year; his nightmares only seemed to be getting worse.

“Harry’s just about as comforting as Ron most of the time,” Ginny had responded dismissively, and that was that. Hermione was fine with it; she wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of emotional support, but she was a sight better than Harry and Ron, and good enough for Ginny, apparently. And after Ginny had helped Hermione befriend and relate to the other girls in her year, Hermione always felt somewhat indebted to her. She’d never been able to so much as carry a conversation with Parvati or Lavender until Ginny had come along and taught her the finer points of female socialization. 

“Nightmares again?” Hermione guessed. She couldn’t exactly sympathize; once again she wondered why Ginny bothered coming to her at all. She’d never been able to offer anything more than a few comforting words – she was good with words, even if she wasn’t good with comfort – and eventually proposed the idea that perhaps if they shared Hermione’s bed, the presence of another person might give Ginny a calmer sleep. It seemed to work fairly well; Ginny never complained of nightmares when they slept together, and Hermione wasn’t made uncomfortable by it. It was purely platonic, after all. 

“Not this time,” Ginny answered, to Hermione’s surprise. “Just… thinking.”

Hermione nodded. Now that, she _could_ sympathize with. “Exams?” she asked. “Or Umbridge?” Those were the only things on anyone’s mind lately, including her own. Well, that, or possibly Harry. She wasn’t sure if Ginny still harbored feelings for Hermione’s best friend. She’d been so determined to move on, and she claimed that she had, but it was easy to delude oneself about love. Not that Hermione had any experience with that. Only theoretical knowledge, of course.

“Neither, actually.” Ginny met Hermione’s eyes, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Eye contact was important, her parents always said, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. She settled her gaze on Ginny’s auburn hair, flickering in the wandlight. It looked particularly red in the dim lighting. Red was Hermione’s favorite color. It used to be blue. Sometimes she found herself wondering when it had changed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione prompted, uncomfortable in the sudden stretch of silence between them. She didn’t know why the quiet was suddenly so, well, disquieting; she’d been studying in it for hours. Only now that Ginny was here did it bother her.

“Well, Neville and Luna and I were talking the other day,” she began, sparing a glance and a smirk for Neville’s awkward sleeping position in the corner. “Neville was talking about career advice.” The fifth years had been given career advice sessions over the past few days. Hermione wondered what Neville’s future plans included. She imagined they were rather Herbology-centered. And Luna would probably take over her father’s job as editor-in-chief of the _Quibbler_. 

“So you’re thinking about your future,” Hermione said, imagining it was probably a safe guess. Ginny nodded, smiling in a rather self-depreciating manner.

“I know I’m only fifteen,” she said. “It seems so early for me to decide on the rest of my _life_. I still want to be a Quidditch player.”

Hermione grinned. “I’d go to every one of your games,” she promised.

“But you hate Quidditch,” Ginny pointed out. It was true; Hermione thought it was horribly boring. The players were all so far away you could barely see them, and it was just a back-and-forth across the pitch until someone finally caught the snitch, which could be minutes or _days_. Still, she shrugged.

“But I don’t hate you.”

Weasleys had quite a magnificent blush, bright red and splotchy, and Ginny’s was visible even in the near-darkness. Ginny had mentioned before how embarrassing it was; Hermione thought it was… kind of cute.

Ginny quickly steered the conversation in another direction. “What about you, Hermione?” she asked, once again capturing Hermione’s dark brown gaze. Hermione was marginally less uncomfortable this time. Ginny had pretty eyes. “What are your plans?”

Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear, a familiar movement. “To be honest, I don’t exactly know.” 

Ginny gaped. “Hermione Granger, Miss Over Prepared, not know what she wants to do with her life? I’m shocked!”

Hermione laughed, careful to keep her voice low for Angelina and Neville. “There’s just so much out there, I can’t decide what to pick. I could be a professor here. I could own a bookstore. I could work for the Ministry, assuming this whole… mess ever gets sorted out.” It was a flippant way to refer to the war they all knew was coming, but Hermione had focused so much of her energy over the years on combating Voldemort that she felt entitled to pretending his return was a non-issue, if only for a moment. Besides, Ginny made it easy to forget her problems. It was partially the easygoing Weasley temperament – a trait the twins had mastered – and part… something else. If Hermione were feeling particularly introspective, she probably would have been able to identify it, but something about Ginny seemed to make her less willing to examine her own motivations. 

“If nothing else, at least I know where I want to live,” she said, smiling sincerely. Ginny watched her with interest plain on her face, and it was nice, for a change, to hold someone’s attention so thoroughly, to feel like someone really cared what she had to say. Hermione never felt that way with Ron, and only rarely with Harry. With Ginny, however, she always felt listened to. She was always respected.

“Where is that?” Ginny asked.  Hermione returned her gaze to the book on her lap, simply to have something to look at.

“Well, it’s not an exact location,” she explained. “I just have a picture in my mind.”

“Tell me.”

Hermione didn’t need any further prompting. “It would be a brick house. Big enough for a family, but not a mansion. I don’t plan on being made of money.” 

“I wouldn’t even know what that’s like,” Ginny said, with only a hint of bitterness.

“You will when you’re a world famous Quidditch player,” Hermione pointed out. “It’ll have windows and curtains and shutters. Very classic. The front,” she spread her hands out in front of her, “Would be covered with ivy.” She glanced over to Ginny. “That part’s very important. My grandparents lived in an ivy-covered house. It was charming.” Hermione rarely used words like “charming,” but in this instance, it was the only word she could think of (which didn’t often happen; Hermione had practically memorized the thesaurus in her parents’ bookshelf back home). 

“Tell me more,” Ginny said eagerly. Hermione nodded.

“There’ll be a path leading up to the house that winds around a garden. I’m no Neville, but I do love Muggle plants. They aren’t constantly trying to eat you or rip you apart. And there will be trees on either side of the house, huge ones, with thick branches for climbing, and a bench underneath the largest one, for reading. 

“There will be a big backyard, because we’ll have a dog, and children to run around. There has to be a park nearby, with a duck pond, and somewhere to get ice cream.”

“It all sounds very Muggle,” Ginny admitted. Hermione frowned. The Weasleys were anything but Muggle; she didn’t know why she expected Ginny to relate. 

“Well it’s a dream I’ve had for a while,” she explained, “Since before Hogwarts.” Ginny grinned, placed a hand on Hermione’s knee.

“I love it,” she said. Hermione’s smile returned. She ignored the way her knee – her entire leg, in fact – felt unusually warm under Ginny’s touch. She was used to ignoring how warm Ginny made her feel. They slept together on the regular, after all. Platonically. Like a sleepover. Girls had sleepovers all the time, right? 

Ginny spoke again, sounding earnest. “And – feel free not to answer, of course – but… do you have any idea who’s living with you in your ivy-covered house?”

Hermione laughed. “I have _no_ idea. Someone, I hope, eventually. I would like to have children eventually, although I’m obviously not in any rush.”

“I would hope not,” Ginny said. “So… you’re over Viktor, then?”

“Viktor is a great person, and maybe if he didn’t live so far away… things could work out. We still write, but he’s graduated and he’s dating someone new and I’m fine with that. And even if I wasn’t over him, it’s pretty early for me to be fantasizing about marriage. Although from how Lavender used to talk about Cedric…” She trailed off, remembering. It seemed like she couldn’t talk about anything these days without being reminded of death.

Quick to return to a lighter subject, Hermione turned the question on Ginny. “What about you? Any idea who’s going to be cheering you on at all of your Quidditch matches? Besides me.” 

Ginny shrugged, blushing again. “There’s someone, but they… I’m pretty sure they don’t feel the same.” She looked up fiercely. “And it’s not Harry, before you ask, because I know you were thinking it.” 

Hermione held up her hands. “Alright, I believe you,” she said. She paused. “It isn’t Neville…?”

“Neville’s sweet, but he’s crazy for Luna. He hasn’t told me, but I can tell.” 

“Neville and Luna?” Hermione grinned. “I can see it.” She paused, and thought. If Ginny really was over Harry, who could the next object of her affection be? She only considered the question for a moment before she dismissed it. She felt sick to her stomach thinking of Ginny with some random boy. She didn’t want to think why. The more time she spent with Ginny, the more she suspected… but that was ridiculous. They were friends. And even though Hermione had never really had girlfriends before Ginny, she was sure it was perfectly normal to notice how pretty your friends were, how soft their hair was, how the light reflected off of it and made it glow gold… Maybe it wasn’t normal to share a bed every now and then, but it wasn’t normal for your friends to have traumatic memories of being possessed by Voldemort, either.

“Anyway,” Ginny said, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts, “I should probably just get over it. There’s no way they’ll ever think of me like that.”

Hermione shrugged. “Don’t let it bother you. You’ll move on to someone else sooner or later. Someone better, who feels the same way about you that you feel about them.”

Ginny smiled somewhat bitterly. “Thanks, Hermione. You’re a really great friend.”

“Sorry I can’t be more helpful,” Hermione said. “I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.” She stood abruptly and offered Ginny a hand. “Should we go upstairs? It’s pretty late, and I was hoping to get at least three hours tonight, and so should you.” Pause. “I know you didn’t have any nightmares, but you could still…?” _Sleep with me?_

Ginny shook her head. “Not tonight,” she said, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel… more disappointed than she should be.

“Alright.” They walked up to the dormitories in silence. “Goodnight,” Hermione said as Ginny disappeared into the fourth years’ room. Ginny smiled pleasantly. Hermione liked her smile. 

“Goodnight, Hermione. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

* * *

Ten years later, Hermione still thought Ginny’s smile was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen, although the ivy-covered brick house they stood in front of was high on the list.

Ginny walked up from the car to join her, lugging two suitcases with her well-defined, muscular arms, a product of playing Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies for seven years running (Ginny did more pushups in a day of training than Hermione had completed in her entire life). Hermione would have liked to pull her own weight, but Ginny was overprotective ever since Hermione’s stomach had begun ballooning into the unwieldy bulge she was currently forced to heft around.

“What do you think, love?” Ginny asked, letting go of one of the suitcase handles to place a gentle hand on Hermione’s pregnant stomach. “Is it everything you wanted?”

Hermione stopped grinning only long enough to kiss Ginny briefly on the lips. “It’s even better.”


End file.
